


A Slice of Paradise

by vanceypants



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - oops all humans, Anxiety Attacks, Bipolar/Mentally Ill Squip, Delusions, Developing Friendships, Fluff and Smut, Jeremy Heere is a horny fuck, M/M, Oral Sex, Since it's an AU I guess you could say it's more canon character/oc but whatever, Trans Jeremy Heere, Trans Rich Goranski, Trans Rich Goranski's Squip, Vaginal Fingering, rapidfire hookup, so is everyone else, some sort of found family dynamic of losers and scam artists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25384465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanceypants/pseuds/vanceypants
Summary: Anxiety attacks.  Delusions of grandeur.  The loneliness of being a misfit.  Pizza parlor scams.  University life makes it easy to lose touch with yourself.It helps to have some friends.ORMoses finds himself falling down the rabbit hole into the Wonderland of Rich Goranski, while the Squip phases through the different stages of surreality, anchored somewhere in the real world by the pretty smile of Jeremy Heere.
Relationships: Jeremy Heere/Jeremy Heere's Squip, Rich Goranski/Rich Goranski's Squip
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	1. The Gospel of Rich Goranski

It was the sort of campus that felt like the mid nineties, instead of the early 2020s. Flannel and band t-shirts, overgrown hair with split ends that desperately needed a trim, the stench of college desperation.

And in the midst of it stood Moses, his breathing shallow. Everyone seemed to glide around him in rapid motion, and he was frozen in place. His toes flexed in his shoes, as he tried to will himself to lift one leg. To just lift one foot, then the other, to walk himself to his advisor’s office and tell her, just tell her, that this wasn’t working out. He couldn’t do this.

A full mathematics scholarship was all well and good, except the integers were crushing him, the division was tearing his limbs apart, his anxieties were multiplying minute by minute, and he swore it would all burst out of him in every direction, lines stretching from here to infinity, carrying every inch of him away.

He couldn’t breathe.

Dimly, Moses felt the notebook in his hand. He’d scrawled his notes meticulously in place and avoided doodling in the margins, but when he looked at them after, he couldn’t make out a single equation. When had it become so hard?

When had everything become so hard?

All he had to do was lift one foot, then the other, to walk himself to his advisor’s office and tell her, just tell her, that this wasn’t working out. He couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t fucking do this.

The full ride strangled him harder than the scarf around his neck. Instead of lifting his feet, he lifted his hands, tore his scarf off. A present from one of his brothers, knitted with care and lack of skill. The edges were frayed and the pattern clashed and it felt like home, almost more so than home itself had ever been.

He missed his brothers. He missed them more than he missed normalcy and sense. He missed their tiny little house on the reservation, the way they packed in together and shared their beds and their hopes and their home, and how happy his eldest brother had been when he’d received his acceptance letter. How proud.

He couldn’t let them down.

So it was simple. He just needed to change his major. Surely there were other paths that would be covered by his scholarship. Or he could take out loans. Or make a payment plan. It was simple. It was another equation that he could solve, because he always solved them. All he had to do was lift one foot, then the other, to walk himself to his advisor’s office and tell her, just tell her, just tell her, just fucking tell her-

He twisted the scarf in his hands, twisted and twisted and twisted, and the seams frayed even further with the intensity of the motion. His glasses felt too heavy and crooked, he needed new frames, but he barely made enough as a tutor, and he was fairly certain he’d lost his position anyway from the week he’d skipped out on. What was he going to do? How was he going to feed himself? He’d need to get another job, but how would he balance his coursework? What was he going to do? He needed to lift one foot, then the other, and throw himself off the roof of his dormitory, and he was pretty sure his roommate hated him too, and-

“Whoa.”

The voice was loud. Loud and startling, and came from the smallest package Moses could barely make out through his aged lens’ prescription.

Moses’ binder constricted him, and he tried to suck in a breath to his too small lungs, tiny lungs underneath a body too massive. He twisted the scarf.

“Sorry.”

If he knew that this was his destiny, this miniscule being with a too loud voice and too loud hair, a red stripe through peroxide blond, he’d have found something better to say.

Instead, he offered the truest word that belonged to his very soul.

Sorry.

And boy was he ever.

“Nah, man, are you alright, bro?”

It seemed redundant, to throw a ‘man’ and a ‘bro’ into the same sentence. But, as Moses would learn very quickly, conventional speech patterns (and conventional anything) weren’t something that fit comfortably over Rich Goranski.

“Very.” Moses whimpered. Why did he whimper? When had his throat become capable of expelling whimpers? 

“You don’t look very ‘very’, my man.” 

Moses felt the way they stood in the center of the pathway, and felt the way other students rushed around them. He was in the way. He was bulky and clunky and in the way. 

And the other boy’s small hands were grasping his forearms.

“Wanna play a game? It’s a breathing game. Can I teach you? Games are pretty much the best ever, right? This one’s real fuckin’ easy though, and you don’t even have to chug lukewarm beer to play. Pretty fuckin nifty, right? Play with me, big guy, okay?”

The words barely meant anything, even as they also meant everything completely. Moses blinked, and then slowly, uncertainly (yet the idea of saying no never truly occurred to him), he nodded. “Okay.”

“Cool? Cool. Yeah. Just follow me okay?”

The smaller boy took a long breath in. It took Moses a moment to figure out that this was what he was meant to follow, but he managed. The air was humid and sticky, and he wanted to expel it immediately, but the other was holding it in for several seconds. 

It was cathartic, when his actions, mouth open to let the air escape, meant Moses could follow suit.

They took their time with it, standing on the sidewalk. The bottoms of Moses’ shoes were worn thin, and he could distinctly feel every crack in the cement. 

And he was distinctly aware that, in the midst of that, the other had taken his hands. His fingers were small and warm and Moses was suddenly frightened of shattering them. 

How had his scarf ended up back around his neck? How could breathing have both been such a focusing act and an utter distraction? How-

“You’re getting all stuck again, huh?” He squeezed Moses’ hands. “I’m Rich.” As if the gift of his name was a solution to being stuck inside himself.

Somehow, it was. Moses latched onto it, and onto his hands.

“I’m Moses.”

Rich let one hand fall away, the other still gripping one of Moses’. “Well, Mo-” It may have been the first time his name was shortened like that by someone other than family, and Moses had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last. “-I’ve got a burning bush you can talk to, if you want to take your mind off all this...holy shit.” Rich’s face suddenly glowed, before Moses even had a chance to take in what he’d said. “That was...like, that was so not an innuendo.”

“Taking my mind off things?”

“Burning bush. Besides, I’m not a natural redhead anyway.” He reached up, ruffling his own dyed hair. “All synthetic, my friend. I mean, the hair is real, the color not so much. The carpet does not match the drapes, compadre.”

He spoke so fast that Moses wasn’t sure he could keep up.

But as Rich tugged at his hand, and began to lead him away from the direction of his advisor, Moses lifted one foot, and then the other, and found himself on the path of following the Gospel of Goranski.

The walk was short towards the boys’ dormitory. Moses briefly thought of his roommate, with his blaring death metal (it made him think of his twin, and he felt guilt not for the first time of his acceptance here, and his sibling’s lack of escape). It was an uncomfortable living situation, though Moses was grateful that his fight to get a room in the boys’ dorms was successful all the same, and he wished he knew how to find common ground between them.

Rich was still holding his hand, as they weaved through the boys. Moses tried to sidestep and shuffle to the edges of the hall, but Rich walked through the center of the crowd, steps loud and shoulders squared. Freshman and seniors alike parted for him, and Rich glanced back, winking. “Remind you of the red sea? Okay, okay, that’s my last biblical joke.”

“Oh.” Realization dawned on him. “Because I’m Moses.”

Rich laughed a little. “Right. Sorry, that was really tasteless shit, I swear I’m not a total asshole. Fuck, I must seem like a total asshole. Seriously, I’m not a total asshole.”

Moses wanted to assure him that, indeed, he did not come across as an asshole. But Rich was releasing the hold on his hand, swiveling on his feet in front of one of the closed doors. A plethora of stickers adorned the outside surface, and Moses found himself staring at a semi-peeled replica of Laura Palmer’s semi-disturbing smile, before the door swung open at Rich’s touch.

“Queere’s--my friend I mean, Jeremy, he’s a cool dude--but anyway, dude’s in class right now, we can chill here for awhile. He got a room to himself, can you believe that shit? I have two fucking roommates. Two! You believe that shit? I mean, they’re major bros, but it’s like, goddamn, sometimes I wanna lay in my underwear and eat cheetos all afternoon. Can’t do that with fuckin Three’s Company playing out in my living space. I mean figuratively, no one’s watching TV Land reruns or anything. Hey, cool!” Rich bounded inward, grabbing a bag of jumbo marshmallows off the (clearly hastily made) bed. He stuffed one in his mouth, before holding the bag out for Moses.

Mo hesitated, then took one. Rich grinned toothily at him, mouth stuffed full of fluff, as he tossed the bag back on the bed, then pat the mattress. “Si’ dow’,” His muffled words made just enough sense for Moses to finally register why Rich’s voice sounded somewhat odd.

He had a lisp.

It was, Moses decided, inarguably cute. He took a seat on the bed, and winced at how low it sank towards the ground with his weight. He drummed his fingers against his knees, as Rich paced before him.

Rich swallowed his bite, then grabbed a chair that was parked up against a desk. Scattered papers lined the desk, with other papers unceremoniously pinned to a corkboard. A caricature of Rich himself was among the pinned works, oversized grin, oversized eyes, vibrant red zig-zagging in his hair.

“So, Mo...haha so-mo, I love rhymes like that.” Rich flicked his head back, clearly to direct a strand of hair out of his face. “What’s got you so fluster-doodled?”

It felt beyond strange to share any of this with a stranger. But everyone here was a stranger. And Moses, perhaps, was the strangest stranger of all. He certainly felt as though he stood out, with his dark skin and his long hair and every outfit meant to disguise the curvature of his hips. The fact he stood a good head, at least, above the rest of his peers definitely didn’t help things, either.

“Everything.”

Rich’s expression softened. “Yeah, I feel that.” He stood up, moving towards him, taking a seat beside him on the bed. His hand reached out, patting Mo’s thigh. “You wanna talk about it?”

Moses stared down at his hand, then looked up at his face. Rich’s eyes were mismatched, one green, one blue, and his lashes were long and dark. His eyebrows betrayed his natural hair color, a darker honey shade. His jaw was defined, and his neck was slender, and he wore a black tank top adorned with nothing but an ear of corn in the center of his chest. His muscles were toned, and tanned, and a few mismatched tattoos lay etched into his flesh.

And his hand was on Moses’ thigh. 

“I thought I’d be better than this by now,” Moses admitted softly. Because he did. College, they’d said, would be easier than high school. High school had been an uneasy mess of trying to figure himself out, and his place in the world. 

The coursework, at least, hadn’t twisted him up so terribly.

Truth be told, the coursework here wasn’t so bad either. He was passing all his classes. He was scoring well on his tests. He didn’t understand it, but he understood how to look like he understood. He could fake it every moment of every day.

He didn’t think he wanted to fake it here, though. 

“You’re really young,” Rich pointed out. “You have time to be better. Why don’t you just be here for now?”

His hand slid up Moses’ leg, but stopped short of complete indecency. 

“I don’t know how.”

“I can show you.”

Moses should have used his words. But instead, he found himself falling towards Rich. His own hand cupped Rich’s face in his palm, the sharpness of his jaw fitting meticulously in the puzzle slots of his existence. Rich’s hand slid a little higher, higher, higher, until he was resting against Mo’s packer.

It wasn’t Moses’ first kiss. But it may as well have been, with the way he gasped at Rich’s tongue touching against his lips. He quivered, soft and unsure, as Rich’s other hand lay against Moses’ chest. He pressed against him, a silent command, and Moses fell back against the bed.

“You like oral sex, pal?”

His lips felt heavy and sticky from their kissing, and Moses blinked up at him in surprise. “I...ah, yes, I do, but-”

“Cuz here’s the thing,” Rich tugged his tank top off, an effortless tug of fabric. He dropped it on the bed beside Moses, and the cheap dormitory lighting glimmered off his skin, paler under the top than his arms were. 

Fondness flooded Moses’ chest as he admired him, taking in the pink of his nipples.

And the scars under his pecs, almost cradling him. 

Moses propped himself up on his elbow, eyes dropping from the scars, to his belly, the perfect flatness, and the faint trail of blond hairs that lead beneath the waistband of his shorts. Then his eyes traveled back up, looking at the scars.

The familiarity of the shape pulled and pressed at Moses’ own chest. He tried to reconcile what he was seeing, as Rich unbuttoned his pants.

“First thing, I’m a total mouthwhore,” Rich’s cargo shorts were baggy as they dropped to his ankles. He wore form-fitting briefs, a surprise to Moses. He’d expected boxers. The bulge in his underwear was impressive and mouthwatering. 

If there was ever any doubt about Moses’ queerness (and, in honesty, there never had been), it surely evaporated here.

“That’s perfectly alright with me,” Moses finally found the strength to speak. He glanced up at Rich’s face, which was flushed. “I mean, if it’s alright with you. Um.”

“Of course that’s alright with me! I don’t usually do this kind of thing,” Rich stuck his hand into his underwear as he said it. Moses groaned softly, which drew a smile from Rich, more assured than the expression when he’d been biting his lips. Carefully, he drew his hand out.

The synthetic cock was a brilliant pink, and Rich flopped it back and forth in demonstration, before setting it on the bedside table. Moses’ gaze followed it, staring at the packer, then looking at Rich. Rich’s red face looked momentarily panicked, though he cleanly shoved it down with a lazy smile.

“Sorry. My cock’s as fake as my hair color.”

Moses shouldn’t have laughed. But the absurdity of the moment--the fact he was in a stranger’s bed, after having been calmed down from a panic attack, staring at a fellow trans boy’s passing equipment, getting ready for some head--it was too much to keep him contained.

“Are you...are you laughing at me?” Rich’s voice shrank, and his arms wrapped around himself. 

Moses shook his head, even as his laughter grew heartier. “No, no, it’s just-” He clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but his giggling grew more intense with the action. His shoulders shook, and his binder wrapped tighter around himself, until he started coughing between laughs.

“Whoa, dude, don’t hyperventilate.”

“Mine’s flesh-toned,” Moses wheezed out, a few last minute snickers huffing through his words.

“Your what?”

“My...oh, here, let me take off my trousers.”

Moses used to be called graceful once upon a time. His poise had often lent itself to questions about whether or not he did ballet. That, of course, was before his growth spurt (the first one, though the second had certainly robbed what little dignified gait that had remained). He tried to channel some of that former smoothness now, as he lifted his hips and hooked his thumbs into tight jeans and boxer-briefs all at once.

If he was going to do this, he may as well commit.

He pushed the lower half of his clothing down, and his packer tumbled out, not quite the same shade of darkness as his actual flesh, but close, as close as he could get. It had cost more than the peach variants, but it had been worth it for that first moment of full belonging it had lent him.

Rich bent down, picking it up, weighing it in his palm. It was such a ludicrous motion, but rather than laughing, Moses blushed.

“Dude, your cock is fuckin’ banging.”

Moses wished he’d brought one of his packing dildos instead of the soft packer, but the idea of being overwhelmed while also sprouting a boner had been more than he could have handled today. Still, he wished he could transition from Rich’s compliments into fucking him effortlessly with the same cock. “My, ah, my fingers are banging, too,” He felt awkward saying those words, but hoped they sufficed. “I could use them on you today, if you’d like.”

Rich blinked. “You’d, like...you’d do that? For me?”

“If you’d let me.”

“Fuck yeah I’d let you! Holy fuck, I haven’t been dicked down in so long. I’d love to have you inside me.”

Moses smiled, and then grew aware of the bunched up way his pants had found themselves at his thighs. He shivered nervously, but pushed them down further, until he was stepping out of them.

First one foot.

Then the other.

Rich walked closer to him, his eyes fixed between Moses’ legs. The hair there was dark and curled and meticulously groomed. God, he was glad he’d showered this morning instead of waiting for night. Then again, maybe Rich would have suggested showering together if that were the case. And Moses didn’t think he’d mind that, those delicate fingers working over his body.

Those same delicate fingers shook him out of his fantasy, as Rich grasped Moses’ thighs, pushing his legs apart.

“Holy fuck,” He breathed. 

“A good holy fuck or a bad holy fuck?” Moses asked.

“Good. Very good fuck. A very _very_ good fuck. Holy Christ, Mo, you hide this body behind clothing everyday? What a selfish little vixen you are. Well, big vixen.”

His clit throbbed at the comments. Moses felt dizzy, falling back onto the bed and staring up at the glow stars on the ceiling. “You’re something else, Rich...ah, what’s your last name?”

“Goranski.”

“Rich Goranski, you’re one in a million.”

“Oh, you say that to all the guys who are about to blow you.”

Rich sank to his knees, his fingers petting over Mo’s cunt just like that. Just like he was made to touch him. 

“Wait,” Mo sat up.

Rich stopped, just as his fingers were about to spread him open (and god, Moses felt lewd, he felt so lewd, indecent, and sexy. God, Rich made him feel desirable, and it was an exhilarating feeling). “Everything okay?”

“Let me kiss you again.”

Rich slipped up Moses’ body. His hands slid under Mo’s shirt, pushing the fabric up with his wrists, as their lips met again. Moses sucked on Rich’s bottom lip, until his mouth opened, and then he brushed his tongue against his. They tangled together, until Moses felt his shirt bunch up against his throat, jostling his scarf.

“Take everything off,” Rich breathed. “I need all of you.”

Moses slid off his scarf, briefly looping it around Rich’s neck, until he earned a laugh, and then he dropped it on the ground. His shirt followed it.

“They make binders with the trans flag colors now?” Rich pouted. “Mine were always all black.”

Moses hooked his thumbs in the elastic and shrugged. “My brother got it for me. His matches.”

“Matching binder brothers?”

“It gets better. We’re twins.”

“Get the fuck out. Twin Trans Powers Activate.”

Moses laughed, as he tugged the fabric over his breasts, which bounced free. He lifted the binder overhead, then dropped it with his shirt on the ground. 

It felt so strange to expose himself so completely. During his last hookup, he’d left his top on, bending the other boy over his bed and fucking him with his well worn strap-on. Of course, he didn’t have his strap-on with him here, but he had his packer, and his hands, and Rich looked so willing and sweet, as his eyes moved over his chest.

“Can I touch you?”

Moses grabbed Rich’s wrist, tugging his hand forth and placing it over one of his breasts. They only made his hand look that much smaller. “I’d be insulted if you didn’t,” He teased. 

Rich squeezed his breast, as they kissed again. Rich’s other hand found its way between Moses’ legs. His thumb moved over his slit, and Moses realized how wet he already was. He spread his legs further apart, until the muscles burned with the position. Rich teased one of his nipples, sucking on Mo’s tongue for a playful few seconds, as he stroked his clit with his thumb.

Moses gasped, breaking the kiss, only for Rich to nuzzle his nose against his. 

Rich kissed down his neck, sucking on his collarbone for a moment, then down his chest. He began to suck his other nipple, teeth lightly grazing, as he strummed at his clit expertly. Thumb against his clit, his index and middle finger began to circle around him, effortless, before sinking within his cunt. 

“Your body is fucking incredible,” Rich mumbled against him. The hand against his breast dropped, cupping Moses’ hip, as Rich flowed down his body, until he knelt expertly between his legs. Watching. Staring. Admiring his own handiwork as he fingered him.

Moses’ toes curled against the carpet, falling back against the bed once more. He was almost too embarrassed to watch, or perhaps just overwhelmed, but it felt so good that he couldn’t bring himself to analyze his emotions much more than that.

Rich pulled his hand away then, fingers sliding out of him. Moses sat up a little, just in time to burn with undefined emotions at the sight of his own wetness stringing between his body and Rich’s digits.

The line popped as he brought his fingers to his lips. Rich locked eyes with him, Moses’ glasses threatening to fog, as he took his fingers into his mouth, sucking the taste of Moses from his skin.

“Oh,” Moses breathed. His cunt felt empty without his touch. He already craved him, more than words could say. His toes twitched against the ground, as Rich continued to suck on his own fingertips.

“Goddamn,” Rich said, nearly as breathless as Moses felt. “You taste like a fucking symphony or something.”

“What does that mean?” It was mystifying, but Moses smiled as he asked it. He reached out, petting Rich’s hair, and Rich tilted his head up towards his touch.

“I don’t know, but I’m gonna make you sing, baby!”

Rich’s hands pressed against Moses’ inner thighs. Moses felt his breath against him, hot, heavy, before his tongue lapped flat against him.

“Ah!”

Rich kissed him, burrowing his face into his hair with a sort of obscene excitement. Moses placed his forearm against his face, over his eyes, as he fell back against the bed. 

When Rich started to suck on his clit, Moses thought he’d surely die from bliss.

And then Rich’s fingers were inside him again, and Moses was surely going to die this time.

And then fingers and lips swapped, thumb against his clit and tongue burrowing deep deep deep inside him (how was Rich’s tongue so flexible and so long?), and Moses was surely a corpse, but a completely electrified one, because he was dead, he was absolutely dead, no man could survive such heavenly pleasures.

Rich moaned against him, curling his tongue inside him, until Moses was crying, positively sobbing. The sounds he made were loud, vibrating around them, and he felt so obscene, but he couldn’t seem to move his hand to cover his own mouth to try to stifle them. His glasses lay on the bed, jostled away with the placement of his arm, and he should have been concerned about thrashing about and breaking them, but frankly he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. Not when Rich was tonguing him just right.

His cunt felt heavy as every sense hyperfocused upon it, and he could feel his pulse between his legs. It seemed to beat in time with Rich’s movements, a perfect synchronization. Moses’ tears stung in his eyes, matting his eyelashes, his fingernails digging into his palm.

His thighs squeezed down around Rich’s head as he came, squishing him into place as he felt the other boy swallow and lap at him, mouth moving gleefully to capture every last bit of his pleasure. The obscenity of it drew a pleasured sob, and Moses moved his arm from his eyes, only to look down, vision blurred without his glasses, the sight of Rich’s mouth against him imprinting forever into his mind.

“Oh my god,” Moses gasped.

“Yeah,” Rich pulled himself back, still kneeling, as he smiled a wet-lipped grin up at Moses. “Pretty fucking good, huh?”

“Nnn,” Moses meant to respond with words, but his world was dizzy, his heart racing, his skin slick with sweat and with tears. His hair splayed around him, and the bed creaked as Rich pulled himself upright, flopping onto the mattress beside him.

Rich’s fingers circled around Mo’s shoulder, then dropped down to grasp his hand. He tugged his hand upward, kissing every fingertip, and drawing Moses’ attention back on him.

“Let’s raincheck the fingerbang, babe. You need your rest.”

“Rest,” Moses said incredulously. “How could I possibly rest after that? Besides,” His voice wobbled throughout those words, but as he drank in the sight of Rich, they grew steadier, until he was sitting up completely, voice husky, “You were made to be fucked.”

Rich’s eyes widened. “I was?”

“Oh, you definitely were, sunshine.” The nickname sprung effortless. Rich’s smile made it worth the momentary uncertainty. “I need to have you.”

“Okay,” Rich shrugged. “If you must.” It was a cavalier sort of attitude that almost deflated Moses, until Rich grabbed him, pulling him down on top of himself and kissing him.

Moses could taste himself on his lips.

“I’d love for you to fuck me,” Rich mumbled against him. “You’re so fucking hot, you know that?”

“No,” Moses admitted. “But you make me feel hot.”

“Uno Reverse that. You make _me_ feel hot. In like, every definition of the word. My pussy feels like a motherfucking furnace.”

Moses slipped his hand down, resting it against the front of Rich’s briefs. He could feel the heat of him through the fabric, and the sizable wetness which had collected into the material.

“Oh, you’re right. You’re positively feverish. You poor thing,” Moses spoke playfully, pecking Rich’s lips. “We better get you out of these clothes immediately before you burn right up.”

“Yeah, self-immolation by snatch-flame is probably frowned upon in the school handbook or something.”

Oh.

Oh, he really liked Rich. He really liked Rich a lot.

Rich was compliant, lifting his hips helpfully as Moses carefully peeled his underwear away, the material briefly sticking at his wet skin, before breaking free. His happy trail led effortlessly down to the grand prize, and Moses had to take a few seconds just to admire him, even as he took his briefs, setting them on the bed beside himself.

“These are mine now.”

“What, you’re stealing my panties, Moseph?”

“I am,” he kept his tone as serious as he could. “And furthermore, I’m stealing you, too.”

“You can’t steal something that’s given freely, dipshit.”

Moses had never heard ‘dipshit’ spoken with more affection than that. How could he not kiss him?

Rich’s body moved like the tide, as Moses’ fingers found their way inside the tight heat of his cunt. He rode up against him, wave after wave, as he panted and sighed his pleasure. Rich closed his eyes, as though to savor the moment.

Moses kissed his eyelids, then stroked his hair with his free hand. “Open your eyes,” He murmured. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

Rich’s eyes stared into his own, and he smiled. “You’re really good at this.”

It felt like forever, and not long enough, and Moses considered philosophy, and how ancient men had drafted their theories about life, the universe, the human condition, but none of them had ever experienced beauty like this, the philosophical wonder of one boy’s wet, willing body, the sensual grace of his lips moaning Moses’ name.

He thought of composers, the beauty of eons of music, and how none of it compared to the sound of his own name in this moment.

Moses kissed his neck, his chest, his stomach. He drank him in, tasted every inch of him, as his fingers pistoned within him. He stole until he was certain Rich had nothing more to give, and then he took some more.

Rich shivered prettily as he came, his body clenching around Moses’ fingers. And in that moment, he was the thief.

He’d stolen any chance Moses might have had of escape, of falling out of his orbit. The gravity of his body was swollen and potent and Moses fell against him, fingers still lodged inside him, as he kissed and kissed and kissed. Lips spilling over his moaning lips, and palm resting against his throat, not choking, just pinning him in place. He needed him to hold still, if only for this moment, as he tried to communicate wordlessly how much all of this meant.

“What’s your major?” Rich panted as Moses pulled away.

Moses stared at him. Stared and stared and stared. Until the laughter came again, bright and confused and gleeful. “Math.”

“Because you should be a sexologist, baby.”

It occurred to him how little he knew about him though. 

And so they talked. Moses scooted closer to him, taking Rich into his arms. They stayed like that, nude and unashamed, staring up at the artificial stars, and traded facts.

Moses spoke of his home. He spoke of his family. He spoke of his scholarship and his anxiety and his queerness and his gender. He spoke of being lost, of the falsehoods of his own personality, the way he’d bleed in and out of different roles so effortlessly that he wasn’t sure which parts remained, what was constant, what was Him.

“Me too.” Rich admitted softly.

And they’d break for kisses, as they traded back and forth, back and forth. Rich was a lit major-- “More like clit major, am I right?”--and he loved science fiction. He spoke of the way Bradbury segued into the New Wave, of Asimov, of Ellison, of other authors whose names Moses tried to remember to look up later. He wanted to remember everything, he wanted to know what Rich read so that he could know him better.

He wanted to keep more of him than just his briefs, though he hadn’t been joking when he’d said he planned on stealing them.

Rich had a dead mom and a dad he wished was dead. He had a collection of mini beanie babies stashed under his dorm mattress. He liked sunflowers and falling asleep to video essayists and his favorite colors were pink and yellow and he used to play football but he’d always wanted to run track. 

He liked stomping in rain puddles. He liked bonfires. His favorite number was 27 and he had no logical reason for why. He still drank Capri Suns whenever he had a chance and he was afraid of the dark.

“I can’t believe I just told you I’m afraid of the dark,” Rich groaned.

“That’s okay, I’m afraid of seahorses.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“Well...they make me uneasy.”

“Liar!”

“Okay. I think they’re cute. And I think you’re cute.” Moses kissed the tip of his nose, and then began to share his true fears. The fear of himself and of hurting people. The fear of being useless. The fear of letting his family down.

Maybe he was afraid of letting himself down too.

“You’ve got a lot on your mind, huh?”

“Sometimes.”

“All the time.”

“Well…” He couldn’t exactly say yes. It might concern him, and he didn’t want that weight on Rich’s shoulders. But he couldn’t exactly say no. That would be a lie and he didn’t want a foundation of lies right when they were getting started on this path to friendship. Or fuck buddies. Or lovers. He wasn’t sure what this was yet.

He just knew he wanted it to last forever.

So he kissed him instead. They kissed and unmade the bed with the movements of their bodies, until they both slid down, with the comforter, to the ground. Rich rolled on top of Moses, grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head.

“Maybe I’ll just keep you like this.”

“Under you?”

“Yup.”

“You’re very strong,” Moses agreed. “How could I ever overpower you?”

“Yeah, you’re too fuckin delicate. Weakling.”

Moses flipped their position, careful to rest his knees just so against the ground, to levitate his weight and keep himself from crushing him. His breasts hung down against Rich’s chest, until Rich moved his hands to cup them both.

“God, you really are sexy.”

“Shut up.” Moses felt guilty for it, though, and pet Rich’s hair. “I meant to say please.”

“Oh, well, that makes it okay.” Rich laughed.

Moses thought of his roommate, and wondered if he’d noticed his absence. He wondered if he was pleased with it, if he’d turned up his already loud music and propped himself in his bed, if he’d thrown any darts at the board he’d placed on the back of the door. He usually missed, and left the darts against the carpet for days until Moses finally deemed it necessary to collect them.

Well, Moses didn’t think he’d be back to clean them up this time, not for the night anyway. Rich seemed content to keep him to himself.

“I guess we should get to my dorm, huh? I’m sure my roommates won’t mind.”

“Roommates,” Moses repeated. And then realization dawned on him. “This is your friend’s room!”

“Yup.”

“We just...we just fucked in your friend’s bed.”

“Yup.”

“Richard!” Moses gasped. “We can’t just fuck in your friend’s bed.”

“You’re right.” Rich dropped one hand from Moses’ breast, reaching around to grope his ass. “But we’re on the floor now, so problem solved.” He grinned. “Anyway, Queere won’t mind. He’s a total pervert.”

“Are you sure-”

As if on cue, the door began to open. Moses grabbed the comforter, draping it around himself and Rich, then looked to their pile of clothes with wide eyed panic. Did they have time to dress before the door opened completely and the new arrival entered?

His eyes moved from the clothes, to their packers sitting on the table. Two floppy cocks, resting on their prosthetic balls. Obscene. 

Moses wasn’t humiliated. But it felt rude, imposing, and the guilt kicked at him, as another boy shuffled into the room, tossing his backpack near the desk, before he adjusted his glasses and glanced at the pile on the floor.

“Hey, Queere!” Rich chirped. Then, “This is Jeremy. Jeremy, Mo. Mo, Jeremy.”

“H-hi,” Jeremy shuffled back and forth on his feet, shutting the door and offering a small smile. “Um. You’re making my bed, Rich. I, uh, I just c-cleaned.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Rich slipped out from under the blanket, completely naked, as he went to his pile of clothes. He pulled on his shirt first, then glanced over at his underwear, still situated on Jeremy’s bed. He shrugged, stuffing his packer into his shorts as he pulled them on. “Freeballing tonight, boys.”

“Um.” Moses grabbed his own clothes, stretching his arms out to take them, then shuffling under the blanket. It was an awkward position, pulling his clothes on under the stifling comforter, but he didn’t want to embarrass Jeremy by exposing himself to him.

Jeremy was seated at his desk when he finally popped his head out, fully dressed again. Rich tossed his packer to him, and he looked down in embarrassment as he fit it back into his underwear with a small adjustment of limbs and clothes.

“Hey, is Squip coming by tonight?” Rich commented, flopping on his back onto the bed. He lay there, Moses seated on the ground, Jeremy in his chair, and drummed his fingers against the wall in an uneven pattern. 

“Y-yeah.”

Between the lisp and the stutter, Moses was absolutely surrounded by cuteness.

“We doing pizza again?” Rich turned onto his side, fingers dropping down to stroke slowly through Moses’ hair, an almost absentminded gesture. Moses had to resist the urge to sigh dreamily at the gentle way he scratched at his scalp. “Cuz I’m fuckin starved.”

“I’m, um, I’m out of coupons.”

“That’s okay! I hit Kinko’s last week. Full color, completely indistinct from the real thing.”

“You, um, you’re sure?”

“Squip-approved.” 

“Who’s Squip?” Moses hated to interrupt. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to know who he was, admittedly, but more that the name was strange, jarring even. He assumed them to be a person, but perhaps it was the name of a computer program of some kind.

“A total nutbag.” Rich said, at the same moment that Jeremy stammered, “My b-boyfriend.”

Jeremy looked at Rich a moment, as though to argue, before smiling. “And, uh, and a total nutbag.”

“You’ll love him,” Rich assured. “Or hate him. It’s sorta a coin toss, I guess. But he’ll love you...or hate you. Again. Total coin toss.”

“Reassuring.” Maybe it was time to go. Rich was falling in line with his crew, and Moses didn’t want to impose.

“What kind of pizza you like, Mighty Mo’phin Power Ranger?” 

“I, ah-”

“Extra sausage?” Rich’s tone was flirty and playful, and then he laughed. “Guess not, if you’re hooking up with me. Jeremy, order the grub. I’ll run back to my place and get the coupons. Moses, you sit your pretty ass here and, you know, be gorgeous. That’s your job. Pretty easy job, huh?” Rich jumped off the bed, walking backwards towards the door, his eyes fixed on Mo. “We’re gonna carb out all night.”

“N-not all night. I have a test in the-”

“Test-shmest, Jeremy-Bearimy.”

“Test-sh-shmest,” Jeremy repeated with a little nod. He looked at Moses. “He makes...m-makes good points.”

“Yes,” Moses smiled as he watched Rich skip out of the room, hearing him greet some of the other dorm mates as he passed them down the hall. “He’s really something else.”

All Moses had to do was keep lifting one foot, then the other, and direct himself in the continued orbital chaos that was Richard Goranski.


	2. The World According to The Squip

Jeremy’s lips felt like heaven. Except that this was an insult to his lips, a complete downgrade to how pleasurable, how soft, how perfect they really were.

Squip groaned, leaning his head back against the wall, his fingers tangling into Jeremy’s curls, as his lover took him in that much deeper. Jeremy sank down against him, his eyelashes fluttering as he looked upward. It was like prayer, except it was more sacred than any prayer could hope to be.

Squip had a tendency of going sacrilegious when he was off his meds. Just as he managed to lose his dwindling connections to a tentative humanity the moment he shed the confines of his medical bondage.

He didn’t need medication.

But he certainly needed Jeremy. He craved him, desired him, absolutely needed him. He tugged at Jeremy’s hair, drawing him off of his cock. He throbbed, the tip of him slick with saliva and precum. Jeremy licked his lips, and tilted his head (as best as he could with Squip gripping his hair the way he did).

“Is, um, i-is something wrong?”

“Nothing.” Squip released the grip on his hair, instead petting it. The waves in Jeremy’s hair rose and tangled into his fingertips, releasing as Squip reached the ends of the strands. “I just think you’re very beautiful, Jeremy Heere.”

Saying his full name was a gift. It wasn’t often that Squip found a full human name tantalizing--indeed, even his own name had proven a disappointment, and so he’d shed it for his stage name full time--but everything about Jeremy drew him in.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to escape the intensity of emotions that Jeremy stirred in him.

Regardless, unlike the meds, he didn’t plan on tossing Jeremy out anyway. So it hardly mattered how intense everything was, how hard he made him feel.

Squip didn’t think he’d had enough humanity within him to feel anything anymore.

And then Jeremy would smile at him, and he’d become painfully aware of his heart, and all the other squishy human organs within the frail shell of his body, and it was over. Just like that, it was over. He was done.

Powerless.

And he wasn’t ready to come after all. Even as Jeremy strained forward, trying to take him back into his mouth. Squip placed his hand against Jeremy’s forehead, earning a surprised little cry, as Squip shoved him back.

Gently, of course. Delicate things broke so easily. And he wasn’t ready for his pretty toy to shatter.

“Take off your clothes.”

Jeremy blinked up at him, the prettiness of his blue eyes all the more potent behind his glasses. Jeremy took them off first, sliding them into the pocket of his cardigan, before glancing around. They were outside, perched behind one of the brick walls that contained the biology labs. 

It was only fitting, therefore, for the two of them to study up on anatomy.

“W-we’re outside.”

“I’m aware.”

“You, um, y-you want me to strip naked, here, outside? Where anyone c-can walk by?”

Squip raised an eyebrow. “Are you suddenly modest?”

Jeremy smiled, rising from his knees and dusting off his pants, ridding himself of the grime and dirt. “N-no, I’m just surprised. You’re, uh, you're always really jealous when anyone l-looks at me. And you’re, um, you’re willing to risk that?”

“I don’t care who looks. They need to know you’re mine.”

It was a bluff. Squip certainly didn’t want anyone ogling Jeremy, his Jeremy, his most precious of commodities. But he also couldn’t go another moment longer not looking at Jeremy, not feeling him, not making him come.

His cock ached, neglected, and the edge of it thrilled him almost more than any orgasm possibly could. He loved it, he loved the sweet thrill of neglect that came so perfectly when he denied his own gratification.

Jeremy shrugged off his cardigan, and then the shirt underneath, his pale grey binder hugging his chest cutely. Squip moved forward, taking the binder and removing it himself, just to have access to his chest first thing. He cupped one of his breasts, bringing it upward as his face fell down to collect his nipple into his mouth. He bit it, and Jeremy gasped.

“You realize what a unique specimen you are, don’t you?”

“N-no.” Jeremy admitted quietly. “But, um, I think that’s a compliment, so th-thank you.”

“Of course it’s a compliment. You need to learn to be more gracious.”

Jeremy shrugged and laughed and Squip’s forehead creased with his frown. He didn’t enjoy being laughed at, no matter how pretty Jeremy’s laughter always proved to be. 

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I-I’m not.” Jeremy cupped Squip’s face in his hands, and pulled him forth for a kiss. His kisses dotted his lips, and then his cheeks, and then along his jawline. “I’d never l-laugh at you.”

“You’re a liar.”

“Well, I’d n-never laugh at you and a-admit it, anyway.”

Squip’s forehead creased again, only for Jeremy to start kissing it as well. He let himself relax at the feeling, as his hands dropped to Jeremy’s hips. He didn’t bother unbuttoning Jeremy’s pants, instead yanking them down, hard, letting them collect at Jeremy’s ankles.

His underwear came down only moments later, and Squip went down just as quickly, his arms wrapping around Jeremy’s body, hugging him close, his cheek resting against Jeremy’s stomach, as he simply felt him, cradled him, cherished him as his, all his, only his.

“You...y-you should probably hurry.” Jeremy’s voice lacked any real fear, instead betraying his exhibitionistic glee. “Anyone could, um, could see. Jesus Ch-Christ, anyone could see.” Squip could practically hear the cartoon hearts bursting above Jeremy’s head at the very prospect.

It was endearing beyond words. Squip pressed his lips against Jeremy’s lower stomach.

At the same time, he moved his fingers inside him.

It was an easy fit, even with the tightness, aided by how unbelievably wet Jeremy was. He always was easy to excite, and as the sun beat down against them, Squip thought about how grateful he was that he’d decided to skip class today. The orchestral lessons could wait.

And Jeremy could certainly stand to skip out on...what was his class that he usually attended at this time? Not that Jeremy really ever attended class faithfully anyway, but Squip tried to recall his schedule.

Frankly, he didn’t care. If he were fully in the depths of his delusions, he’d have cursed his memory banks for failing.

But Squip was too aware of his humanity still, cursed with the lingering effects of seroquel. He hoped to shake it. At least his sex drive had come back.

His cock twitched as though in reminder of that fact. Oh, his sex drive was back, alright. And he was about to dispense all of it onto Jeremy.

Well.

Maybe not on him.

Maybe in him.

He was still deciding.

Or maybe Jeremy would dominate him instead, use his fingers or his tongue inside him. Squip wouldn’t mind that either, if that was what Jeremy decided was best. Frankly, he didn’t care how he came, as long as his edging led to it eventually.

He fingered Jeremy slowly, Jeremy rising onto his toes, as Squip continued to dot kisses against his belly, his other arm wrapped around him, hand very lightly resting against his ass. He curled his fingers inside him, touching just the way he knew Jeremy liked.

Jeremy moaned his name, his chosen name (though Squip couldn’t quite remember the prophetic dream he’d based it off of, just that the letters had come to him and made so much sense that he’d almost instantaneously reversed the entirety of his being to encapsulate it. He didn’t care how many stares he received when he introduced himself. He didn’t care about the constant questions of “Is that your real name?” Squip was who he was now, who he was always meant to be, and no one was going to shake that from him). Squip savored the sound of it, all the more satisfied with his choice in identity, and his choice in partner.

And as he made Jeremy come with his fingers alone, here outside where anyone could hear, could see, could know, he couldn’t help but think of them, their history. How Jeremy had come to one of his shows, Squip on stage, cradling the microphone and nothing else. Squip’s hands had never known the gentle touch of another, his body had never felt the compassion of another, until Jeremy had followed him backstage. 

They hadn’t fucked that first night. Squip had shown him some of his songs, had seen the way Jeremy struggled to try to mentally comprehend the intensity of Squip’s emotions.

(When he let himself go back to his medication, Squip would look at his stacks and stacks of notebooks and find one, maybe two songs worth salvaging from the mess of what he’d manically considered genius. But thinking about the quality control of sanity wasn’t something Squip was ready to confront today)

They’d kissed, and Squip suspected he’d been bad at it. But Jeremy had been so good. Jeremy was always so, so good.

Jeremy returned to his knees, naked, his pants still around his ankles, and collected his own breasts into his hands. He nestled Squip’s cock between them, squeezing against him, then moving up and down his shaft.

Squip was almost more transfixed by the sight than by the physical sensation. Jeremy took control like this, showed his own power over Squip, and Squip’s stomach twisted and twisted, his cock throbbed and throbbed and throbbed, and he was certain he couldn’t handle anymore.

That was the bliss he chased. That feeling of losing complete control. Of Jeremy so easily consuming him.

He came upon Jeremy’s chest and face, and slumped against the wall after as though he’d been shot. Jeremy crawled into his lap, kissing him with his messy lips and pressing against him with his sweaty body.

Squip tried not to think about his own body’s stickiness, the sweat upon his forehead. It was unseemly, and too human. He hated his humanity, hated the way he was perceived as a mere mortal man. 

But he was too sane to-

“Um. D-don’t get mad,” Jeremy said softly. He pulled back, pulling on his binder, then pulling up his pants.

“Why would I get mad?” How could he get mad, after such a gift? Especially when Jeremy’s voice pulled him out of too much introspection.

“Are...oh, j-jeez, I don’t want to ask...a-are, um, are you taking your meds?”

“Yes.”

“Squip…”

The disapproval weighed heavy. Squip looked away, sighing softly. “What does it matter, Jeremy?”

“It m-matters a lot. I don’t...I d-don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Squip rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to get hurt.”

“You said that last time.”

Had he? All the incidents seemed to bleed together and, frankly, Squip forgot where he ended and surreality began. It all just seemed to blend together. It worked for his persona on stage, certainly, playing open mics and meeting with his bandmates for practice (well, when he was able to join them for practice, when he wasn’t holed up with Jeremy, or holed up with his thoughts, or holed up with the crushing doom that came along with being an inhuman consciousness in a human body).

It didn’t work so well when trying to convince his boyfriend that he was most certainly being strict and good on his medicine regimen, thank you very much.

Especially when he wasn’t.

“No,” Squip crossed his arms, still seated on the ground, as Jeremy finished dressing. He moved himself as well, just enough to tuck himself back into his pants. “I’m not. Is that what you want to hear?”

“I d-don’t want that to be the case,” Jeremy said, “but I’m glad you told me.”

“It isn’t a big deal. Plenty of people manage their disorders without any sort of--look. Can we talk about this later?”

Jeremy nodded solemnly. 

Squip’s shoulders slumped. “I’ll go to the pharmacy on Monday. Okay?”

And he knew he would. Those words locked him into the contractual agreement. Jeremy was sad and worried and stressed, and though Squip longed to keep his mind unlocked, and his sex drive untethered, and as certain as he was that he had it under control this time, maybe it wasn’t worth it if he was going to spiral so badly that he might risk losing the only good thing he’d ever gotten in his miserable existence.

“You w-will?”

“I will.”

Jeremy smiled. The look of pure beauty that kept Squip from getting too angry about his questioning, his doubt, his worry. If complying would gain those smiles, then Squip would drown himself in every medication known to man. He’d numb himself to the point of oblivion.

Not that it was really that extreme, if he was honest. Maybe he liked the clarity sometimes. Maybe it actually felt good not to go to the edge of extremes everytime he experienced a fickle human emotion.

But admitting that was almost more worrying than admitting his own humanity.

“I’m g-gonna go back to my dorm, I think, and...I d-dunno.”

“Check on Rich?”

Jeremy looked surprised. “You think he’s th-there?”

“He always is. His roommates hate him, don’t they?”

He could understand why, though he personally enjoyed Rich’s company as best he could. Rich was chaotic. His personality overpowered, threatened to drown out every other viewpoint in the room. He had a very loud mind.

Squip knew that, because his own thoughts were the same. He could preach for hours and hours, and Rich could babble for nearly as long himself.

The conversations fascinated him, though, so Squip couldn’t say he was upset by any of it.

“I don’t kn-know about hate-”

“Didn’t they call him slurs and lock him out last week?”

Jeremy was quiet. “O-okay,” He admitted. “I’m going to ch-check on Rich.”

“You don’t need to check in on everyone.”

“S-someone has to.” Jeremy waved a hand about vaguely. “Besides, i-if he’s _not_ there, then that gives me time to m-masturbate.”

Squip wrinkled his nose. “What a waste.”

Jeremy laughed. “Meet me i-in like an hour, okay?” Squip was standing now, and Jeremy rocked up onto his toes to plant a kiss on Squip’s cheek. “A-and don’t forget about the pharmacist.”

“I know, I know.”

“C-call in your prescription, or else.”

“I know.”

“Thank you.” Jeremy grabbed his backpack, then offered a final smile, before he was dashing off.

Squip watched him go, then headed in the direction of his own house, off campus. The apartment was dull and clinical and familiar, and it made Squip’s muscles untense being within the sterile walls. Jeremy teased him about his lack of decor, his plain design decisions, but Squip didn’t care about his thoughts on the subject. Until Jeremy moved in, it wasn’t his business.

He called in his prescription, then sat in his favorite chair, staring at the clock until exactly 60 minutes had passed. Twiddling his tie and stretching his sore muscles from holding still for so long, he walked towards the door, pausing only to reach down to pet Cat behind her ears. She was a good girl, he thought, another stray who’d ended up at one of his shows (at his favorite of the bars they were occasionally asked to perform at) that he’d taken home. 

All the more reason that music was important in his life. It brought about all these gifts, between Cat and Jeremy.

Besides, how else was he expected to bleed out all of these toxic feelings?

The walk back to the school ended rapidly, as he walked into the boys’ dormitory. The noise and the faint smell of body odor reminded him exactly why he’d chosen to stay off campus (that and his trust fund proved sizable enough to cover his rent). Why he couldn’t convince Jeremy to join him in his apartment, he hadn’t the faintest idea. It would have been insulting were he not too busy being confused.

Standing at Jeremy’s door, he could hear quiet murmurings from within. He frowned, pushing the door open.

Jeremy sat at his desk, hands moving as he spoke animatedly. “-so sick o-of people calling, um, c-calling anything that’s a little p-popular and n-not their taste “overrated,” it’s, um, it’s cheap and--oh!” His face lit up, hands paused mid-spiral. “Squip, c-come in.”

“Since when do I need an invitation?” His eyes moved away from Jeremy, to where he’d suspected RIch to be located.

Instead, he found a strange boy seated on the floor, looking at Jeremy with a curious sort of amusement, and then looking at Squip with a curious sort of confusion.

“Who is this?” Squip snapped.

“I-”

“Th-this is Moses. He’s, um, h-he’s Rich’s friend.”

God knew Rich could use more friends. All the same, Squip eyed Moses warily. “Why are you on the ground? And what happened to the bed, Jeremy? I thought you said you cleaned.” Disappointment filled him. Jeremy was so upset with him for skipping his pills, yet he was lying about his own habits as well. How could anyone live like this, with an unmade bed? It was maddening, and baffling, and he couldn’t comprehend a single bit of Jeremy’s mindset some days.

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “D-don’t worry about it. Rich is going to, um, he’s going to fix it. He’s the one who-”

“Don’t blame this on Rich. We both know you didn’t clean your room.”

“Y-yes I did! Look. I, um, I emptied the t-trash bin and everything.”

It was empty, Squip had to admit. But did that truly prove anything?

“That proves nothing. Maybe you didn’t have any garbage to begin with.”

“Y-you know that’s not true. You were, um, complaining it would a-attract ants, remember?”

“No.” Squip glanced around the room again. “Where is Rich, anyway?”

“Rich is here!” The door opened again, and Rich twirled his way inside. He clutched a fistful of papers, pumping his other fist into the air. “Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!” He chanted energetically.

Squip wasn’t certain he had the stamina to handle it. He supposed he could try though, for Jeremy’s sake. Jeremy was so fond of Rich’s company.

And, well, Squip wasn’t entirely opposed to him.

Which made the addition of this stranger all the more alarming. Who was he to burst in and proclaim himself a friend? What had he done to earn that title?

“I see you’ve met my new fuckmate.” Rich plopped onto the ground, throwing an arm around Moses’ shoulders. The size difference between them was comical, Rich’s tinyness all the more amplified by Moses’ largeness.

“Fuckmate,” Squip repeated. He glanced at the bed, then Moses’ semi-disheveled shirt, and Rich’s large grin, and sighed. It made sense. It made a lot of sense, in fact. “So you slept with him.”

“We didn’t get much sleeping done.”

“Then I guess I owe Jeremy an apology.”

The room was silent for several moments, before Jeremy spoke up. “S-so are you going to say you’re sorry?”

“I already did.”

“You didn’t. You j-just said you _should_ apologize, but you never actually did it.”

“Ah. Well, that’s unfortunate.” He glanced at the coupons Rich was holding. 

They’d taken one of the originals, stolen from a neighboring dorm’s newspaper, and photocopied several hundred copies. Cashing in ten coupons equaled one free pizza.

Squip hated pizza.

But Jeremy and Rich loved it. So fraudulent coupons were the way of the future. Besides, Jeremy seemed opposed to letting Squip just pay for everything for god knew what reason. The coupons helped alleviate some of the poverty.

“I take it we’re having more pizza then.”

“Did my little chant not give it away?” Rich kissed Moses’ shoulder, then smiled at Squip. “Don’t tell me you don’t want a little anchovy pie, bro.”

“I do not.”

“Coward.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“What’s your point?”

It was actually a compelling question. What was his point? Rich being disgusting was hardly anything new, or anything of note.

Rather than respond to the question, he simply changed the subject. “Are we taking your new “fuckmate,” as you so eloquently put it, along with us?”

“Of fuckin course, bro.” Rich jumped to his feet. His hand aimed downward, until Moses took it, and he helped him upright. Moses’ size was all the more startling when he stood. Squip had always considered himself tall, and indeed he was used to being the tallest being in the room. 

This clearly was not going to be the case with Moses around.

Not that he expected Moses to become a permanent staple of their group by any means. No one really seemed to stick, not in Squip’s life. Nobody, that was, but Cat. And Jeremy. And Rich.

He noted that it was probably wrong to list his pet before his boyfriend. But Jeremy didn’t have to know the hierarchical pattern within his brain, and Squip could easily just blame it on the scattered attention of an unmedicated mind. 

Whatever the case, Moses was very large, even with his shoulders hunched, and the timid way he shuffled towards Rich. Their hands were still clasped together. Rich looked happy. Smile bright, luminous even, as he looked up at the other boy.

It was strange to see someone else mirroring that expression while looking back at him. Rich had an awful habit of falling in love with men incapable of loving him back (Jeremy insisted this was the case with his female conquests as well, but Squip had never seen him bring home a woman). A terrible quirk of throwing his every ounce of personality into the empty chests of (usually older) men who found him vaguely annoying at best.

Was it any wonder that Squip saw little reason to roll out the red carpet for this boy, given that history? 

Even if Moses’ eyes were soft, and his smile was softer, and his thumb was gently brushing against Rich’s hand as though it were the most delicate, tender, lovable thing in the world.

It was touching, almost, until Squip looked at the sheets, the disheveled bed, and he couldn’t help but ask, “How long have you known each other?”

“Met this afternoon,” Rich stuffed the fistful of coupons into his pocket, then wrapped both of his arms around Moses’. His cheek squished up against him, until he turned his face towards him and began pecking kisses against the exposed skin of his bicep, the space before flesh met the sleeve of his shirt. Moses laughed a little, a nervous, not-quite-embarrassed sound, as he lifted his other arm, then strummed his fingers softly through Rich’s hair.

“This afternoon? And you fucked?”

“Yup. That a problem?”

“Yes, actually.” It was emotionally unhealthy! It was morally unsound! It was...okay, it was normal enough, they were horny men left alone with little else for entertainment besides their bodies, but Rich should have shown some more discretion. “You shouldn’t be utilizing Jeremy’s sleeping space for your carnal desires.”

“I d-don’t mind.” Jeremy pulled his glasses from his cardigan, sliding them into place and smiling crookedly. “E-engage in all the, uh, “c-carnal desires” that you need to, as I always say.”

Squip tried not to express his annoyance in his facial expression, but he looked at Jeremy distastefully all the same. “Don’t mock me.”

“I-I’m not.”

“What I said is true. They had no right to use your bed.”

“Are we getting grub or not?” Rich had released his hold on Moses, and tapped at his wrist, as though gesturing at an imaginary watch. “It’s lunch o’clock, fellas, and I’m ready for that choo choo train of chow to launch itself in my chewing hole.”

“It’s dinner time.” Squip said.

But Rich seemed caught in his own words too much to acknowledge it. “Not that my mouth is only for chewing. But you know that already, doncha, Mo?”

Moses’ face was brilliantly handsome in the intensity of his blush. His good looks only made Squip more irritated. How shallow could Rich get?

“Your skills are, ah, they’re definitely multifaceted,” Moses finally said.

“I’m a total blowjob queen. A mouth worth parking in. They call me the garage. Park your parts right in me, know what I’m saying?”

“If your goal is to kill my appetite before we even go, you’ve succeeded.”

“Jesus, Squippy, you’re even more uptight than normal.” Rich’s casual smile slipped a little. “Something wrong?”

If he brought up his meds, Squip was sure he really would spew.

Nothing like a little impromptu vomit to remind a guy of his futile humanity. 

Thankfully, it didn’t come to that. “Someone stressing you out or something?”

“Yes.” Squip looked at him for a long moment. “You are.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. So we eating out or what?” Rich snorted, nudging Moses with his elbow. “Eating out. You know, if you ever wanna eat out, my kitchen’s always open, know what I-”

“Your flirting is atrocious. Let’s get this over with,” Squip said. 

Jeremy rose from his desk chair, and smacked Squip in the shoulder. “St-stop showing off how mean you can be. It’s, um, i-it’s rude and obnoxious.”

“Obnoxious? I’m not the one making terrible innuendos.”

“You like pizza, right? I can’t remember if I asked or not, dude.” Rich walked in a circle around Moses, finally standing in front of him. His hands grasped the two opposite ends of his scarf, gently flossing it back and forth against his neck. Squip didn’t doubt for a moment that Rich had already asked Moses that question, that Rich’s terrible memory of his own rapid mouth droppings was at play.

Moses didn’t betray that it was something that was already established though. “Pizza is fine.”

“You probably w-worked up an appetite.” Jeremy said, and Squip could do little but look at him in disapproval. A disapproval Jeremy didn’t bother to look at him to absorb, no less.

Moses gently scuffed his foot against the carpet, sheepish. “Maybe.”

Both Rich and Jeremy giggled. What was so charming about that? Why were they acting like this man would be a part of their group for much longer? He’d surely grow tired of them by the end of this evening, or otherwise prove himself expendable, or maybe just be an overly annoying dunce.

Frankly, it couldn’t come fast enough for Squip.

As they walked out of the room, the gentle small talk from Jeremy keyed in.

“S-so what are you here for, Moses? A-at school for I mean.”

“He’s a mathematics dork.”

“R-Rich, you’re cute, but other, um, other people can talk too sometimes.”

They both laughed, Jeremy and Rich, after the chiding. As though it were a joke to be considerate about dominating the conversation.

Jeremy had said similar to Squip in the past, though Squip had found little basis to laugh about it.

“He’s right--ah, I mean Rich is right, I don’t mind him talking-”

“I do,” Rich chirped. “My voice is hellish and annoying. Right, Squip?”

“Your lisp is grating.”

“See?”

Squip wondered if he realized he didn’t actually mean it. As they walked out of the dormitory, into the steadily dimming daylight, he side eyed him, and considered whether or not he really was too mean. Rich certainly experienced enough negative enforcement in his life. Did Squip really need to pile more on?

His lisp wasn’t even that noticeable after a while. It seemed a low blow.

Rich was skipping, though he caught Squip’s eye and stopped. “Why are you staring, bro?”

“I’m not.”

“Kinda are.”

“He’s the one staring,” Squip needed to get the attention off himself, and so he gestured at Moses.

It was true anyway.

He was staring.

“Yeah, well, he’s a math student.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Obviously he’s missing out on good aesthetic visuals in his life. It’s all numbers and, like, charts and fractions and shit, right? I’m just giving him a chance to enjoy some real art.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Real nudey art, too.”

“What do you know about art?”

“Loads!” 

“Do, um, d-do you like your classes, Mo?” Jeremy, the doll he was, tried to redirect the conversation back on course again. He had a grace about him everytime he navigated Rich’s excesses.

“They’re...yes, they’re alright.”

“Really?”

“...no. Not really. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Us too!” Rich said.

“Y-you’re, um, you’re with the right p-people for that.”

“The Island of Clinically Insane Toys.”

“Have you th-thought about changing your major?”

“Well, a little. I’ve always wanted to go into--oh, it’s silly.”

“It can’t be any worse than Rich.” Squip said.

“Than my what?” Rich asked.

“You. Than you. You’re ‘silly’.”

Rich snorted. “You sound silly saying that word, bro.”

What a moron. Squip crossed his arms, stopping as they reached the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change.

“So, um, so wh-what would you rather do?”

“I’d like to study fashion.”

“Like clothes fashion?” Rich looked up at him curiously.

“No,” Squip said. “Like food fashion.”

“That’s a thing? Neat!”

“Like clothes fashion,” Moses said with a soft laugh. “It’s actually really interesting--maybe not so much the western tradition as much, though there’s certainly a stylistic bias there that I’m cursed with given American culture, but looking at different periods of history, and different classes and geographical regions of people, and how something as simple as the colors they chose to wear, and why, and how, symbolized important aspects of their lives. Even focusing on, oh, say death customs--there’s an entire fashion history in that alone, and I don’t just mean in the mourners, but in the way the deceased is--oh, I’ve gotten very morbid, and I’ve gone off on a terrible tangent, haven’t I?”

The light changed, but none of them bothered to cross, looking at Moses. No one spoke for a moment, as though anticipating more, but Moses kept his mouth shut.

“Whoa,” Rich said. “I mean, like, a good whoa. Holy fuck.”

“I-it’s true, though,” Jeremy said. “Even c-costume work, in movies, that can m...make or break a scene. I mean, o-obviously that’s not as interesting as real life-”

“Oh, but it is! Oh, you wouldn’t believe the rivalry between high fashion and costume designers. Each is so certain their craft is superior to the other-”

They finally managed to cross the street, as Squip fell quiet, simply observing the conversation, Rich cutting in occasionally with inappropriate jokes that generally earned laughter from one or both of the others, Jeremy going into tangents of his own experiences, Moses speaking with a quiet sort of authority, tinged as it was with a social uncertainty.

It felt so strange to have a newcomer enter into the swing of their trio. Squip stored away details of the conversation, tucking them into the spaces in his mind that had previously been devoid of any curiosity about fashion history.

They reached the pizza parlor, standing outside the glass doors.

“And I suppose I should admit, before I seduce Rich too much, one of my other red flags.”

“Oh really?” Rich smiled slyly, stepping forth and bumping his hip against him. “What, do you have a weird fetish or something?”

“You wish.”

“I do.”

“Maybe I’ll share that later. But, ah, no. I like magic too.”

“Like, the game?”

“No, like card tricks and pulling bunnies out of hats.”

“You’re a fashionista magician?” Rich said incredulously.

Never had a definition of a person convinced Squip more completely that someone was made to belong with them. Just like that, Moses slotted into place, at least for this tentative moment in time.

And, certainly, it wasn’t as though they didn’t have little offshoots to their dynamic. Jeremy had Michael, though he didn’t go to their school. And Brooke often came for study nights that usually devolved into romantic comedy binges and nail painting (Squip’s toenails still had glitter polish on them). They never missed any of Christine’s curtain calls.

But they weren’t part of their schemes.

And what schemes they were. From coming up with foolproof ways to cheat through tests (and selling the methods for a hefty premium to desperate classmates) to pretending to choke in the cafeteria so that the inevitable heimlich giver would feel compelled to pay for their meal, there was no shortage of scams that they engaged in.

That probably wasn’t a point of pride for a friendship.

It wasn’t all misdeeds, of course. They understood each other. They comforted each other. They knew each other.

They loved each other.

Now Squip really was sure he was going to be sick, thinking such things.

“I...well, I’ve never thought of it like that,” Moses said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I suppose so. If I were to ever perform any of my tricks professionally, I guess the most fun part would be designing an ensemble.”

“Sequins and a cape or something? You’d probably need a slutty assistant. I think I know someone for the job.”

“Oh do you?” Moses’ tone grew sultry, as he blatantly looked up and down Rich’s body, clearly undressing him with his eyes.

“Yeah I do. Squip! You wanna be a magic man?”

Jeremy snorted. Squip tried to gather enough annoyance to glare, but instead he could feel himself pouting.

“Okay okay, enough “mirth” or what the fuck ever. What are we getting?” Rich rubbed his hands together.

“R-Rich,” Jeremy said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I already c...called in the order, remember?”

“No.”

“Y-you told me to call.”

Rich’s mouth formed a little “o”, before he laughed, nodding. “Right! We already--shit man, I was so excited about the ‘za that I totally spaced it. So you ordered?”

“Yes. Th-they couldn’t understand h-half of my words, like always.”

“Why couldn’t they?” Moses asked.

“Stutter.” Jeremy said it, funnily enough, without stuttering. 

It was Rich’s turn to put a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. His lisp grew more exaggerated. “Sucky stuff, my silly-billy son.” The fact he placed as many S’s into the sentence as he could was enough to make Squip smile just slightly. “Ain’t that right, Squip?” Little drops of spittle left his mouth as he fully savored the lisp.

“Stop being obnoxious.”

“Make me. NOW. ONWARD, CHUMS.” Rich pushed open the glass door of the shop, and the four of them trickled in.

“Welcome to Papa Devine’s, what can I get started for you?” The monotone of the employee was familiar, though the worker didn’t betray any signs that he recognized them.

Even though they came to this same shop nearly three times a week minimum. They’d printed a lot of coupons, what else was there to say?

“Guten tag, mein brother.” Rich hopped up to the red and white striped counter. He leaned an elbow against it, grinning toothily. “We’re picking up an order.”

“What’s the name?”

“D-Dick Mungus,” Jeremy stammered out, clearly frustrated by his own stutter over the words.

Rich looked over at him with wide eyes. “Seriously?”

“Isn’t it supposed to be “Hugh”?” Squip’s tone was bored, because he was bored. The faster they could collect their pizza and get back to the dorm, the better.”

“Is it Hugh Mungus or Dick Mungus on the order, sir?” The employee asked, without a trace of amusement.

“D...d-dick.”

Rich cackled. Moses smiled politely, though clearly he was confused by the entire exchange. Squip tapped his foot against the floor tile.

The employee walked to the back of the kitchen to fetch their boxes, and Rich rounded on Jeremy.

“Dick Mungus?”

“Y-you’re the one who s...said it first.”

“I did?”

“Last weekend. We, uh, we were pretty drunk.”

“Man, I’m great. Why does no one appreciate our genius?”

“W-woe is us.”

The employee dropped the box onto the counter. “$15.98.”

“Maybe this will change your mind.” Rich reached into his pocket, whipping out the coupons and placing them on the counter beside the box.

The employee glanced at the coupons, picking one up. Squip noted the advertised sign on the wall proclaiming the promotion as active. And the copies were perfect replicas. There was no reason for them to be doubted.

“Just a sec.” The employee turned around, walking out of sight again. 

He’d taken the coupons with him.

“What the fuck was that about? Can we, like, go?” Rich asked, and Jeremy shrugged at him.

Squip’s stomach felt swollen with uneasiness. It was never a good thing, when they were forging coupons, for the employee to go for outside consultation. They’d already been banned from two different fried chicken establishments for similar behavior.

Well, that and Rich’s loud mouth when they were called out.

And, as expected, the employee returned with the manager in tow.

“Sir, where did you get these coupons?” The manager spoke in a clipped tone, waving the papers back and forth.

“The newspaper. You have an ad-”

“We don’t accept photocopies.” He crumpled them up, dropping them behind the counter (presumably into a wastebasket of some sort). Eyes small and angry, even magnified by the lenses of his glasses, he looked between them. “I see you kids in here every week, and I’ve caught onto your little scheme. Now I expect compensation for-”

“Do you like magic?”

Moses’ voice was sudden, and a little frantic. Squip looked at him for a moment, and then the flabbergasted manager.

“What-”

Moses pulled a deck of cards from his pocket, and shuffled them in a single hand. It was a smooth action, confident, and Squip momentarily found himself mesmerized by the steady motion of it.

“Son, I don’t have time--I’ve called the police and they’ll--”

“Pick a card. Any card.”

No sooner had the words left Moses’ mouth before he bent the deck back in his hand, then released. The cards cascaded forward, spilling into the manager’s face, knocking his glasses from his face, and causing the squinty bastard to sputter in confusion and indignation.

Moses reached out, grabbing the pizza from the counter, before giving the universal ‘oh fuck’ expression that preceded a need to make a hasty escape.

The four ran from the restaurant, the sound of shouting chasing them, though not the follow through of echoing footsteps. Still, even knowing they weren’t being chased, they continued to run, Moses clutching the pizza in one hand, Rich’s hand in the other. Jeremy, similarly, grabbed Squip’s hand and tugged him, urging him along faster.

They ran and ran, dodging down alleyway after alleyway until they finally slumped against the wall of an abandoned factory.

Rich was the first to start giggling, through raspy breath. “Pick a card,” He repeated, then slapped the back of his hand against Mo’s shoulder. “Holy fuck, dude, how long have you been nursing that line?”

“Th-that was amazing,” Jeremy said. He coughed, doubling over for a moment to catch his breath. Before Squip could grow concerned, Jeremy started to laugh, standing upright once more. 

“It was adequate,” Squip said.

Jeremy leaned against him, kissing his cheek. It was a little embarrassing, the show of affection in front of their friends.

Friends.

So Moses really was one of them, then. Not just a whim of truth, but the full weight of it. Just like that.

“That’s high p-praise from Squip.” Jeremy assured him.

Moses smiled at him. Squip took him in, all height and long hair and glasses. His quirks, his oddness, his passion. 

Maybe he was the missing piece they’d been waiting to join their fold all along. 

Rich bounced about him, looking at Squip all the time, as though waiting for the final sign of his approval.

“I suppose this means you’ll be joining us tomorrow night as well. Preferably not next to a disgusting dumpster.” Squip looked around their surroundings distastefully.

“I...oh, yes, I’d really...if you’d have me, I-”

“It’s settled.”

They walked back towards campus together, taking turns holding the pizza box, taking turns sharing their interests, taking turns knowing each other.

Pizza, Squip thought as he found himself holding the box during their final leg of the journey, was an absolutely disgusting atrocity, a complete insult to the concept of food.

He looked between the other boys. From Rich, to Moses, to Jeremy. They were his, and he was theirs. Unlike the pizza, they weren’t atrocious at all.

They were, he thought blissfully, better than adequate.

“Wanna eat girl scout cookies and watch porn?”

“Shut up, Rich.” Leave it to Goranski to ruin a nice, quiet moment with his stupidity.

Moses hugged Rich, as Jeremy laughed, and Squip realized in dismay that, in the end, he wouldn’t have it any other way.


End file.
